Somewhere
by TheStrangeBelief
Summary: This time he's leaving for good...Jun/Tomoe. First in a series, maybe.


A/N: First of my new Rozen Maiden songfic series...I think there's going to be around three...but I'm not sure. Inspired by the song 'Boston' by Augustana.

Eh. Review, please. Thanks.

The music floats in from one of the empty rooms in their shared apartment_,__ carry all your thoughts across an open field, _and gauzy curtains flutter next to the half-open windows.

A slight, delicate girl sits on the couch, heavy-lidded black eyes scanning the pages of the book in her lap and pale rosebud lips just barely parted. Her hair is askew, and she is still dressed in the rumpled clothes of sleep.

_(She wishes that it didn't matter so much to him anymore—the fact that he couldn't save her.)_

All is quiet in the apartment, until there is a crash from one of the rooms. The girl turns her head just so slightly, in the direction of the noise. _Is it Jun again? _

A few minutes later, _but it feels like hours, the way she's holding her breath, _Jun, her—what_ is _he, anyway? He is not her boyfriend—no, they are too old for a juvenile term like that—or her fiance. They are not _together_, either. You could call him her almost-brother, but she thinks, _or maybe she imagined it, _that they once shared something fragile, a spark of _maybe. Maybe _more than a friend. _Maybe _together.

_(Maybes are for dreamers. She is not a dreamer.)_

But what could have been was crushed to pieces, when _it _happened. _It _really shouldn't have been that big of a deal, her selfish mind whispers. Besides_, _Shinku was _just a doll._

_Just a doll. _

But not to Jun, no, never to Jun. _Never_. Shinku had been someone he had grown to care very much for, grudgingly, yes, but still. Near the end, she was an obsession to him, something he watched over with fanatic attention and the kind of affection no human being should have for a doll. So it had nearly _killed_ him, when he had found the pieces of her body lying in front of the mirror, with the petals of a white rose clutched in her hands.

When she found him, three hours later, he was sitting numbly in front of the mirror, cradling her broken body in his arms, calling out her name quietly, seemingly unaware of the tears that rolled down his cheeks.

_(Jun? Jun? Are you there?)_

He had never been the same afterwards. Gone was the boisterous Jun, whose company she had enjoyed so much, replaced by a quiet, melancholy man. He spent hours just sitting next to the window, and watching the breeze ruffle the curtains, with a wistful, wishful air about him. Sometimes, she would go up to him, and lay her hand on his arm, offering him silent comfort that he always rejected, with a jerky shake of his head. Then he would wrench himself from her grasp, and go back to his room, doing God knew what.

_(She knows he's angry and that her comfort would not help him at all, but it still hurts.)_

Jun was usually quiet, but now and then, he would fly into fits of rage, _ones where his eyes glowed with something she didn't want to name, and where his fists shook like he wanted to hit her. _One time, she had been going through some of the old photo albums, and by chance, she'd taken out a picture of Jun and Shinku, dressed in one of the frilly creations he'd sewn for Mitsu. Just then, the subject of the picture himself had walked in, spied the photo lying on the table, and gave her a look that could burn the skin off of her face.

(Even as he'd stomped away, she was pretty sure those were tears glistening in those angry eyes.)

The girl's so lost in her thoughts that she doesn't notice the man that has just entered the room.

"Jun?" It's not so much of a question as it is a plea, and they both know what she's leaving unsaid.

_Don't do this, _she begged him silently, _don't do this. _

"I'm leaving." He tells her this with the most blasé of expressions, as he gazes down at her with heavy-lidded eyes that reflect nothing. His suitcase is clenched in sweaty hands, _because, inside, really, he's scared to death of leaving, _and his fingers thrum a nervous rhythm against the pocket.

She looks at him, confused. _Why?_

The silence coats the air, and she thinks that it could _almost_ be tangible, like acid on her tender flesh. He's the first to break it though, words spilling out of his mouth uncontrollably.

"I have to leave. I _need _to leave this place! I can't stand going outside and this goddamned apartment—_everything_ reminds me of her! _Everything! _I feel like I'm losing my mind here…" His voice trails off, and his hand loosens, making the suitcase fall to the floor with a loud thump.

_No, you lost your mind a long time ago, _she thinks. But she's not going to tell him, because this is _the_ crucial moment—the split second before chaos erupts and when the clock cannot be turned backwards ever again.

"Do you want me to come with you?" She finally asks, fiddling with the hem of her shirt.

As soon as the words are out of her mouth, she knows she's made a huge mistake, and she's ruined whatever chance she's had with persuading him to stay with her.

"_No!" _He exhales, before continuing, in a quieter voice, " No. I have to do this alone. I don't need any reminders…it's not you, really, it isn't…"

"Where are you going?"

He doesn't reply, and turns toward the door.

She sits there, paralyzed. Why can't she bring herself to _move_, to get up and _stop_ him? Is it already so far gone that even she cannot bring herself to picture a happy ending?

His hand is on the doorknob, _fingers itching to open the door to freedom and new places, _and she knows, with a dreadful certainty in her heart, that it's her last chance.

(Please?)

She doesn't realize that she's called aloud for him, until he turns his head ever so slightly, toward her.

He doesn't know where he's going either, but he knows that she won't be satisfied with a boundless 'somewhere', because that's Tomoe for you. So, in the space of a second, he tries to think of a place to go. Somewhere where no one will know his name.

And maybe it's a miracle too, because as soon as the last chords of the song echo from the back room, the word 'Boston' hits his head like a sledgehammer. So he smiles ever so slightly, and tells her, "I'm going to Boston, where no one knows my name."

Then he opens the door and is gone, lost in the last warm day of autumn and burning leaves.

~~~FIN~~~~


End file.
